A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter VI-III

Istanbul, from the Golden Horn to Bosphorus

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Take a measly minute to cut out Old Istanbul City from the scarcely available printed Istanbul map and then season with three-drop of creativity juice you squeezed so hard from your rusted brain onto the map. What you will get is not an oyster plate in an extravagant French restaurant, but what Turks call the Golden Horn.

At first I was purely fascinated by the similarity of its shape to a horn, but then relating the many renowned destinations located within the Old Istanbul City district made me realised why the horn is a golden one.

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How could anyone not love Old Istanbul City? Not only it does accommodate the landmark Blue Mosque, the church-turned mosque Haghia Sophia, the massive underground water cistern Yerebatan Sarayi, the bustling Grand Bazaar and Spice Bazaar, and also the resplendent Topkapi Palace, it is also where the best kebab and balik-ekmek could be found abundantly.

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Connecting the Old City to the Modern Istanbul City is the Galata Bridge. Coupled with Galata Tower, these two locations have always been the hottest spot to admire the sunrise, the daylight, the sunset and the night scene of Istanbul, regardless on whether you are revolving around the panoramic viewing platform of the Galata Tower, or standing along the Galata Bridge with hundreds of “fishers”.

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In the Modern City, splendid monuments are not lacking either.  These include the Dolmabaçhe Palace constructed alongside the Bosphorus (also is where I got 90% discount on entry ticket, ha!), Otokol Church that overlooks the simply elegant New Bosphorus Brigde, the buzzing Taksim Square and the shopaholic heaven Istiklal Caddesi.

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On a warm sunny morning in Istanbul, the best indulgence should definitely be a boat trip along the Bosphorus that sails all the way from New Bosphorus Bridge to Old Bosphorus Bridge, which are two absolutely identical bridges uniting firmly Asia and Europe. Not to miss are also the expensive lodges sprawling along the Bosphorus and the fortress of Rumelihisar which I was told to have held concert of Elton John.

 

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And voila! Four paragraphs summarising all the most exciting venues in Istanbul. Bear in mind, it takes days to really digest and appreciate the charm and beauty of these attractions, but it worth the time and apparently the sore feet.

Istanbul, like many other cities in Turkey, crowded. But ironically, the pressure of living is hardly felt. Perhaps it was because I was a tourist. But I was convinced that no matter how busy you are, there is always time for family, for the love one, for friends, for a glass of apple tea under a tree, for an afternoon of fishing on a bridge, for a glimpse of the mesmerising sunset, and a few bites of baklava or Turkish delight.

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Turkey, with picturesque landscapes, heart-warming people, intriguing legends and history, deliciously healthy street cuisine, and exciting adventurous activities, is at least in my opinion, the ultimate travel destination. I rate the country five-star!

 

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A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter VI-II

Istanbul, Unravel the Shopping Story

It was a love imagination which I had shared in the last entry. The truth is the story could never be true. Why?

Although the distance between Grand Bazaar and the Blue Mosque is not a moon away, they are not located next to each other. Second, there isn’t any huge square next to the Grand Bazaar. Perhaps not adjacent to the many entries I had crossed under. The only massive square which I had been to was the one next to Spice Bazaar and the New Istanbul Mosque. As soon as I finished typing this sentence, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is the right location? Anyway, although there are trams connecting where I stayed to Blue Mosque, they aren’t the historic trams along the Istiklal Caddesi.

But of course, despite all the muddle-headed settings, the most sought after answer really is if there was any fling during my visit to Istanbul. Well, as much as I would love to (Gosh! Turkish people are smoking hot!), nothing happened on my five-day visit. Boohoo!

Fortunately, there were numerous consolatory historical monuments in Istanbul. But what I found the most fascinating really was the Istiklal Caddesi, or the Istiklal Avenue. According to my host, it is the most sardine-packing (crowded) street in the world. Not sure if the statement can withstand the challenge by Oxford Street and Regent Street in London, or Time Square in New York, but having over three-million visitor in a single day over the weekend, Istiklal Avenue surely is heaven where adrenaline of shopaholics rushes wildly and uncontrollably. Just be careful of a prospective heart attack though.

And most importantly, it is also where the historic tram crawls between Taksim Square and Tünel, despite the uncertainty of what the latter has got to offer. And even more exhilarating for me, the abundance of Turkish Delights and Baklava! Oh, and the many bars of Turkish chocolates carelessly displayed on the glass window of any tiny kiosk one could easily spot along the avenue. My chocoholic worms were biting! Hard! Ouch!

Nevertheless, the many bazaars were still the most culturally enriched destinations in Istanbul. Personal preference would definitely be the Spice Bazaar over Grand Bazaar. The colours and the smell of spices, teas, Turkish delights, and many more bizarre offerings were simply irresistible.

Undoubtedly, the Grand Bazaar, as the name suggested, grande (humongous)! But unless with a clear agenda for gold, jewelleries and leather, or maybe even carpets, Grand Bazaar wasn’t at all grand (splendid). And lest you think that your extraordinary bargaining skill in Indonesia will work the same magic here, shop owners tend to get pissed off easily and never hesitate to publicly humiliate you as cheapskate if you make an extreme low offer in the initial negotiation.

Not only souvenirs that constantly haunt you to keep spending, the persistent invitations of the many street meals were also insanely hard to decline. I was especially a fan to the cheap, fresh, delicious, and wait-me-no-more balik-ekmek, or the fish sandwiches. They were two-euro each, but roughly as big as a size ten shoe, absolutely massive! But two at a time was no challenge for me! Of course, kebab! Doner! Gosh! The waistline was expanding!

It really was hard to resist the temptation to spend money and more money in Istanbul. Native Turkish used to complain the soaring high living cost in the capital, but from a foreigner’s (a European in this context) perspective, it really was cheap! So cheap before you realise you have burnt a hole in your wallet from the heat of excessively swiped credit card. And that means another boohoo!

 

 

 

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter VI

Istanbul, the Magic Love City

When it comes to Istanbul, I used to have this imagination.

It was eerily early in the morning, just about the time when the first ray of morning sunshine cracked the dawn. Dressed in a light buttoned dirty green shirt and in a pair of Prussian blue jeans, I departed from hotel and headed towards the giant square between the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bazaar.

Standing in a crowded but far from sardined bright red tram in Istanbul city centre, the so called historic tram that has for years enjoyed the leading role among Istanbul postcards, my mind has already been drifted to the giant square. The excitement of snapping gorgeous national geographic standard photos had already caused an unrecognised adrenaline rush within my body.

I paid no attention to any commuter. I was fully immersed in my own thought.

“Next station, Sultanahmet,” the identical voice of the sexy station calling lady conveyed through the speaker. Sultanahmet, or Blue Mosque, or my destination.

I breathed in the morning freshness. The blend between the apple tea fragrance and the breeziness of ocean injected an unfamiliar sense of ecstasy in me. However, before the wilderness got out of my control, I was tamed by the reverberation of morning prayer delivered from the Blue Mosque.

It was just the way I love about Istanbul, the fight between the buzz, the calmness, the nature, and the artificial to concur the emotion of every human being in the city. It was magical.

Following the ray of sunlight, I started my main task in the morning, the capture of the prettiest portray of Istanbul. The minarets and decorative façade of Blue Mosque, the emptiness of the giant square and the crowds of pigeons scattering around the square, and the golden lights penetrated through the narrow entry of the Grand Bazaar. The camera had never been so joyous before. Every facet of Istanbul Old City looked absolutely fascinating, from the camera or through the window of my eyes.

Sitting on a bench scrutinising the pictures via the camera screen while blanketing my body with the morning sunshine, something caught my attention. I raised my head with a target in my mind instantaneously. Shouldn’t be too far away. It was seconds before I realised the presence of this gorgeous fella that looked right into my camera with an absolutely seducing smile.

But there was no one. I rose and quickly paced myself to where the fella was standing. My eyes scouted around with no success. Feeling disappointed, I stared at the screen, or more precisely the fella in the screen once more. That’s it?

“First time in Istanbul?” an unfamiliar voice carrying the Turkish accent delivered from my back. I turned around and there was the fella. The thrill of “lost and found” dominated my entire soul. I made a silly smile but remained speechless. The other end, which by now handling an apple tea to me, was nothing but confused.

Unknowing the reason, this imagination casted in my mind since the first time I learnt about Istanbul from television. And thereafter, I told myself, it is where the love of my life will come. Istanbul, it has made quite an impression even before my arrival. Did I experience what I had imagined? You know the answer, join me next time.

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter V-III

Cappadocia, Ascending for a Quarter Century

I imagined it would be a glaring ray of light, so harsh to the eyes and even hurtful for just a sneak peek. I reckoned it was a once in a life time opportunity to indulge sunrise at this altitude without the complication of climbing up a hill early in the morning.

Gazing at a distant view, it wasn’t beaming shine from the rising sun. Snow had really hindered the warmth of sunrise from joyfully blanketing the lunar landscape in the land of beautiful horses and it had magically “shortened” the reach of sunlight. But it was still the same viewing ease, the same smooth sail in a serene and calm dawn.

I hesitated for a period lengthy enough to be deemed endless before I eventually decided to splurge 150Euros on this extravagant trip. It was not because of the availability, it was not because Cappadocia was remarked as one of the most beautiful places for it. It was an ascending celebration of a quarter century that I desired to pamper myself with. It was an indelible hot air balloon trip during my 25 year old birthday.

Turkey had always been the country I longed to visit the most. When the opportunity arrived and coincided with my biggest turning point in life up to date – turning 25 – I visited Turkey for a search of inspiration. And when the hot air balloon reached the altitude where I was literally united with clouds, I looked down at the wonderful nature down the little basket I was in. I told myself: Why do we need to get so high up to really understand that we are actually looking for a firm ground to step on?

Hot air balloon trip was undoubtedly an expensive purchase. While enjoyed my inclusive light breakfast and waited for the balloon to get filled up with warm air in the vast balloon field, I couldn’t help myself but still drowning in the guilt of luxurious indulgence.

However, the guilty conscience slowly faded away when I saw “my” balloon growing from flat to bulgy and it was absolutely impossible to hide the excitement when I was called to start the journey. What was it like ascending in air with hot air balloon? It was identical to the impression of a mountain hike where you were stunned with breathtaking view prior to your knowledge.

Riding on a hot air balloon during winter was surely very distinctive compared to the same flight in summer. There were patchy snow flakes covering the earth surface instead of the exposure of naked volcanic earth formation. However, if your pilot is experienced, sailing along the narrow valley in between the unique lunar landscape would definitely beat the price tag and supply immense pleasure.

It was the highlight of my planned Cappadocia trip. But it wasn’t without (unplanned) companies. An eager invitation from my host in Cappadocia had seen me sitting in a lecture in university. And before I knew it, I was holding a marker pen teaching English in front of university students.

It was indeed an absolutely bizarre but enjoyable experience and I wouldn’t believe if anyone has had similar experience as me during their ordinary travels. Well, it wasn’t the type of grand lecture hall that can accommodate 500 students without challenge. Instead, it was a lovely middle age rural Greek style house that was transformed into lecture room. But hey, it was the experience that matters!

Did I also mentioned how my host in Cappadocia brought me to the one and only local Greek pub, requested a change of music to song I like, and held a cute little cake in his hands while walking himself through the throng of dancing fellows and sang birthday song to me?

A hot air balloon gift I bought for myself, an unforgettable birthday celebration from my host, and a surprise experience of becoming half a day university lecturer. What more could I ask for the birthday celebration that marks my presence for a quarter century?

 

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter V-II

Cappadocia II, from Uchisar to Ihlara

There were three prominent colours in Cappadocia, the red, the green and the blue. It was not a reference to the layers of colour vividly crafted on the cliff face of the renowned eerie lunar landscape over the course of centuries that can keep your eyes glued for hours. Neither does the colourful balloons that sailed through the sky when darkness was replaced by grey dawn are applicable in this context.

They were, at certain extent which I would strongly condemn as one of the sadness of commercial exploitation, the coloured guided tours recognised widely across the tourism industry in Cappadocia. Confused if it was a cliché that the challenge to capture the land of beautiful horses on one’s own was profusely immense, or it was just a catchphrase of tour organisers to deceive tourists to surrender their wallets.

Nevertheless, I wet my feet in this tourism dye vat and got myself coloured red and green in two days. To my surprise, it was agreeable that these tours were worthwhile investments, especially when substantial chunk of the payment went to admission tickets, dining in a restaurant and pick-ups that might altogether cost a great deal of hassle if not a bomb.

The red tour focused at areas surrounding Göreme where the biggest attraction was definitely the Göreme Open Air Museum. It was a massive collection of rock churches excavated deep inside the lunar landscape, often with strange names such as apple church and decorated by monotonously coloured frescoes. These frescoes do come in standard format as well. They were either human drawings with eyes dug out – it was said that invaders found the staring from the paintings uncomfortable – or geometry shapes intended for the conveyance of bible knowledge.

But what I found to be the most exciting portion of the red tour was the visit to fairly chimneys field, a dominant natural attraction in Cappadocia. It was a combination of volcanic eruption and weathering process that had created this magnificent feature. They looked like mushrooms, and were often disgustedly interpreted as a metaphor for giant penises by my American tour mates. It was sheer unfortunate that the snow had altered the natural colour of these fairy chimneys, though risking broken arms and legs to walk in the fairy valley was still feasible.

On the other hand, snow fall had magically added interesting flavour to the green tour where a 4km hike along the Star Wars alike Ihlara Valley, located some 50km away from Göreme was the crown of the tour. The snow covered valley along the Ihlara River had undoubtedly magnified the hardship for a smooth hiking, but the impressive surrounding images it helped to produce was unbeatable and deserve undivided attention of hikers. That could be interpreted as an abuse case to memory capacity of camera too.

Also a highlight of the green tour was the 8-floor Derinkuyu underground city. Even with only 10 percent of the entire underground city was opened for public, it was sufficient for visitors to grasp an unforgettable idea of how creatively and intelligently the underground city was constructed in the past as a war shelter. With the very lively and interestingly seasoned description from my tour guide, it was hardly impossible to imagine the survival of people for months some 55m beneath land surface for months.

So much about the various tourist destinations in Cappadocia, it really was to convey the idea of why Cappadocia should definitely be prioritised in a visit to Turkey. But my most memorable event in Cappadocia was yet to come. Join me next time for the slowest flight a kilometre above ground and the smallest but cutest cake I had for a quarter century celebration.

 

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter V-I

Cappadocia, the Impression

Remained stagnant on the back of a hardy black horse at the top edge of an endless cliff formation where the eerie lunar landscape was crafted. Gazing under the blazing hot sun, the even land encompassed by the breathtaking cliff formation showed no sign of vegetation and was equally unbounded. The occasional breeze that soothed the scorching heat in a bright summer day was accompanied by the inner rhythms that yearned for eternal freedom.

It was the identical film setting which one would find in one of those Eastern big budget epic productions that guaranteed a wow from the audiences. But it was this kind of impressiveness that imposed my mind with an unexplainable imagination during my fortuitous Cappadocia encounter.

Perhaps it was the picturesque scenery that had driven the imagination engine to mass produce such incredible images. Or maybe it was the implication of the name Cappadocia, or Katpatuka that means the land of beautiful horses. Cappadocia surged from the middle of nowhere to an inconvertible choice for holiday destination. I was reassured after my trip, despite the terribly wrong setting, that Cappadocia should remain at the very top on the list of everyone visiting Turkey.

Reminisce the very first sight that came into the curtains of my eyes on a late afternoon short bus journey to Göreme village, the hidden city, it was an absolutely dazzling and gasping welcome.

Wow… It was the lengthy sigh uttered coincidently by almost every single passenger in the bus, followed by a bizarre silence. Everyone, including myself was mesmerised to the extent that our eyes were literally glued to the offer outside the window.

Regardless of the meandering direction led by the bus, passengers were turning their heads from left to right, from front to back in a near perfect synchronised movement. No one wanted to miss a sight of this drop dead gorgeous and absolutely stunning surrounding, even when everyone was spending at least a day for a proper digestion of the beauty of nature.

Yes, it was undoubtedly the charm of Cappadocia that had awakened the greedy human nature and you have to experience it personally the diversity of the attractions around Cappadocia in order to comprehensively fathom how it could dominate the realm of natural beauty.

Bewildered, I wasn’t sure should I consider my three and half day stay in Cappadocia a fortunate event. The torrid romance with horses which I had created in my mind prior to my arrival varnished after the first night. The possibly last snow marking the end of winter paid an unsolicited visit at the first night of my visit.

The snow was heavy enough to result the entire Cappadocia being snow capped after a night – a disastrous setting for my own film set. Speechless at first, I was then slowly picked up the momentum to appreciate the completely different facet of Cappadocia.

The longed intimate action with the unique eerie lunar landscape formed by the combining agents of volcanic eruption and weathering process was dismissed due to the blizzard. Fortunately, my loss was compensated by the plentiful unforgettable activities during the remaining of the trip.

Although it was not the faultless setting I would like to engage myself in, Cappadocia remains as the ultimate destination for travel in my opinion. Thanks Fiona for the recommendation.

 

 

 

 

 

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter IV

Konya, the Mecca of Turkey

Visiting Turkey without visiting Konya is similar to skipping pyramid in Egypt or missing Eiffel Tower in Paris. Islamic culture is prevalent in the entire Turkey as 98% of the population in is Muslim, although the influence was evidently less significant in metropolises where the daily five prayers routine was hardly religiously followed. Also noteworthy was the rumour of pork eating culture in Turkey.

However, in Konya, the heart of the whole Turkish Islamic culture, religion peaked. Mosques were established at literally every corner in the city. The reverberation of prayers from these mosques echoed the entire city exactly five times a day, which by itself was a pleasant reminiscence of my university life in Malaysia.

Ironically, Konya was also a disparaging place of native Turks, outside Konya. I recalled the facial expression of them whenever they learnt about my Konya plan. I swear the uniformity of their facial expression wasn’t a coincidence but a general consensus of their dislike to people living in Konya. “Konyan” to them was just a horde of religion freaks demonstrate frantic excitement to religion.

And so I was terrified and wondered if my only night in Konya was going to render a restless night of worry of being different. However, a twist of the story was seen right upon my arrival.

Case study #1:

Lost in the massive Konya bus station, I had zero idea the direction that led me to the nearest tram station for my very first Turkish host. Enquired locals and waited their direction with bated breath proved to be a pathetic experience – hardly anyone spoke English or at least understood my question.

Not giving up, I approached a young man clearly seemed to be accompanying her girlfriend at that moment. Phew! English conversation finally! He then walked me to the tram station, waited with me, informed the tram driver to give me a shout at my destination and settled my fee with his student tram card.

Case study #2:

At my host, interestingly without the presence of my host, the only entertainment was to kill the boredom by chit-chatting with the co-hosts who unfortunately didn’t speak English. Despite the communication barrier, I was cooked a big meal and was restricted access to only fresh breads during the meal, whilst my co-hosts were having the less fresh ones.

Case study #3:

Trying to catch a tram to Mevlana Museum, the only and biggest attraction in Konya, where the whirling dervishes ceremony was originated, I was again challenged with direction. Approached a girl in veil, who then revealed her student identity, I was pleasantly surprised with her offer to skip class and led me to my destination.

Sensing the inappropriateness to cause such a trouble, I politely rejected. But she, together with her friend whom we met after got off the tram, insisted to bring me to a local eatery and bought me huge breakfast, wished me a wonderful time in Konya, before waving goodbye unwillingly to me.

The friendliness and hospitality of people living in Konya were stupendous. The guilty conscience of the inner self condemning my previous unjustified presumption prior to my arrival surged and was drowning me with shame. Why do people outside Konya labelled Konya with such a despicable remark? I was profoundly confused.

It was bitterly cold during my visit to Konya. But the warmth of the people clearly had overwhelmed the attraction in the city. Leaving Konya with a smile on my face, I started my imagination of a horseback riding in  Cappadocia.

A Youth Backpacker in Europe

Part III Chapter III

Pamukkale, the Cotton Castle

In the morning of my third day in Turkey, I finally boarded on my pilot road journey with the renowned Turkish bus system. To what many people find themselves being sceptical about, it was a downright routine practice in the Turkish bus system – complimentary drink and food service on board. And if you are lucky, you will find a handsome looking and well dressed young man to be your garçon of the day.

Prior to my journey, Fiona told me about this complimentary service thingy which I seriously took into account during the planning phase of my trip. Not that bus fare in Turkey was ridiculously valued until requiring you to dig deep for reasons prior to subscription, but to receive service which one would normally only receive 38,000 feet above ground right on the ground, that surely was an irresistible perk worth considering.

However, food served was not the award winning excessively decorated flight meal but just some packet fruit cake from ordinary market. Well, you pay for what you get. But it was confusing enough for first-timer, for example the Indian woman in the same bus with me to mistaken it as the similar cunning ploy of budget airlines to plough extra revenue.

It was a three-hour journey wheeling on the meandering ‘highway’ of Turkey towards the east. Everything was perfect – the mesmerising scenery and the equally eye candy garçon, the talkative next and front seats neighbours which occasionally gave me the much desired peace of mind, and the enjoyable ‘ psychologically free’ fruit cake and juices – until the visit of the unsolicited torrential downpour.

To be fair, it wasn’t all that sunny at all since the morning in the first place. Checking out the gloomy weather through the cleaning-desperate bus window was not even the last activity I intended to perform during the journey. But when the rain finally came, I found myself in a cleft stick, indecisive on whether to settle with a rainwater-cleaned window that allows clearer penetration of scenery or a sunny weather through the stained window.

Three hours of neither bumpy nor comfortable bus ride later, the following structure imposed itself into the curtains of my eyes – a humongous natural white blanketed hill slope echoed by the rhythm of drastic flowing streams. It is what they call the ‘Cotton Castle’ – Pamukkale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another UNESCO World Heritage, but this naturally formed ‘shimmering’ white cascade, sculptured by limestone-laden hot springs that have over the course created unique shapes of stalactites, potholes and magical fairy tables, was one of its kind. The sheer scale of this captivated formation alone was sufficient to make every visitor gasps. But it was the privilege to walk bare foot on the ‘hard cotton’ ground that left an unforgettable memory.

Worry about slippery surface? Nah, the spring water was deliberately diverted via the multiple purposely dug trenches. Not considering it as a strategic move, I would rather choose to risk myself falling off this approximately 20 floors high structure by paddling exhilarating through the reputed beneficial water while gazing at the ancient fragments of the columns below the surface, than to trek safely on the dry wrinkled stone while coercing myself into believing what now seemed like a carelessly worn potholes as the once glamorous ‘castle’ made of cotton.

What considered as lucky was when it approached sunset, there was a glimpse of sunshine materialising golden gleams from some scarce amount of water tables to quench the thirst for a long waited impressive facet of Pamukkale of which I considered as the consolation prize of my only day in Pamukkale, before drizzles of spring showers made their presence.

Disappointed by the weather which certainly had brought back the winter chill, I found myself enjoyed a hot-pan grilled fish in a relaxed warm old-fashioned heated lounge of my hostel at night, recharging myself with a good night sleep before the pilgrimage to the most religious city of Turkey – Konya the next day.

P.S.: Thank you Erkan from Turkey for his wonderful recommendation to visit Pamukkale.